jealous of mother's
skinny limbs and
creamy branches
blurred photographs
regarding my madonna
as a heroine
this line of women
glazing their skin with
honey, brown suger
and chemicals
to slip into a decade,
a year,
a unit of social expectation


wearing fresh make-up
and rubbing circles in
the children's hands
so husband,
father
will welcome perfection
feminine façade.
hair in rollers
and you're trying every way
to melt the butter
off your hips


the mothers are fat, now
grandmother's fatter.


it's my turn
to be demeter